


Lemon Tart

by halfpastemu



Category: lemon - Fandom
Genre: Gen, lemon lemon smut i'm just curious how many people are gonna read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastemu/pseuds/halfpastemu
Summary: read and find out~
Relationships: Lemon - Relationship





	Lemon Tart

This is the first time I can open my eyes in a while. Oh goodness, is it already spring? The blue of the sky is overthroned by a gracious blend of orange and pink, which pepper the sleepy morning clouds above me. Clouds!

God, how I've missed this! I can see a full array of cloudy grapes- or are they just cloud shaped perhaps?

A gush of a fresh morning breeze disrupts my dilemma. Never mind, clouds are clouds, I can't even get close to them, I cannot fly, why should I let them bother me? But what I can do, i can visit the Earth!

I look down, and notice the spring grass filled with field flowers, which some ignorant old lady might consider a pesky weed. They dance in the wind; bright yellow dandelions, a couple shy pink plantains, and a single wilted poppy, probably a victim of one too many neibourhood dogs, all surounding my home. Oh, that's right.

I live on a lemon tree, well, I guess I should just call it a tree, since I'm a lemon.

Think about it, it's like calling this neibourhood house a 'human house', instead of just 'a house'. It's like a limbo, my home. I get to be a fair distance above the ground, so the cats, dogs or mice can't harm me, and the strong branches protect me from the weather.

However, I don't get to closely observe the flowers or to feel the dewy grass on my skin at dawn, when the birds persistanly chirp, as if they're trying to wake everyone up. I just don't. Hanging here, waiting, I have slowly learned the tunes, but beside that, living my life, stuck in the middle, in the hellish inbeetween, I grow wiery and tired of this monotony. It's as if I'm only allowed to see one colour, the yellow of the house, funnily enough, but I want to observe the entire rainbow. And what lies in the great Beyond.

A strong and sweet aroma is suddenly evaporating from the small, tawny house. In its' kitchen window, one of the two I can see, I spot an old, withering man. His hair is entirely white, as is his skin. He is wearing a velveteen looking olive sweater, even though it seems to be far to warm a weather for it. Then again, we lemons don't understand how anyone copes with fur or clothing. All we need is our skin, and we'll be perfectly fine. Maybe other beings are more fragile or sensitive. The man is leaning on the window pane, as if he's searching for something- someone?

The tree starts shaking vigourously in the next instant, the branches are scratching over my face, the world is blurry, and before I know it- the trembling stops, leaving me hanging of my branch barely strong enough to hold on. Two mops of fur, or is it hair, pass under me, and they appear to be children. They must've caused that raccus, damned they be.

The boy and girl are running to the old man leaned heavily against the window. They're waving at him feraly as three smiles manicly wide, and brighter than the sun, are emerging on their faces. Suddenly, I don't care wether they shook my tree or not.

As I've finally let go of my only safe hold, I'm falling fast down toward the ground. I realise: my boundery wasn't the tree- my boundary was my choice to hold onto it.

The wind is hitting my face, and it stings, just like the branches did a minute before. Then a hard thump, as my head finally hits the well waited ground. I can finally feel the moist dew, the gentle caress of the plantain flowers, the poppy now finally meeting his deserved death under me- I'm the happiest I've ever been.

Then all goes dark. Not even yellow is visible anymore. Two soft small hands are picking me up from the grass, and then a pair of rough and dry ones. As someone is moving me, certainly toward the house, the sweet aroma intensifies. Oh I know what it is. It is an empty crust of a lemon tart!


End file.
